


This Feeling Calls for Everything (I am not)

by rattatatosk



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Character Study, Crowley's Name is Crawly | Crawley (Good Omens), Falling In Love, M/M, POV Crowley (Good Omens), Pining, Possibly Some Blasphemy, Rating T only for Biblical Violence/Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-04
Updated: 2019-09-04
Packaged: 2020-10-10 05:03:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,028
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20522387
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rattatatosk/pseuds/rattatatosk
Summary: Crawly is struck speechless by Aziraphale in Eden. By Rome, he knows he's lost.





	This Feeling Calls for Everything (I am not)

_Oh no, not now_   
_ Please not now_   
_ I just settled into the glass half empty;_   
_ Made myself at home_   
_ And so why now?_   
_ Please not now_   
_ I just stopped believing in happy endings,_   
_ Harbors of my own_

_But you had to come along, didn't you?_   
_ Tear down the doors, throw open windows_   
_ Oh, if you knew just what a fool you have made me_

_This,_ Crawly thinks to himself, lurking on the edge of Eden's wall, _is a terrible idea. _But then, he's always had more curiosity than sense. He just can't help himself. The questions burn him from the inside out, and even the consequences they bring in the asking don't hurt as much as keeping them bottled up.

It's why he's here now, staring at an angel who should by all rights be his deadly enemy, strongly considering striking up a conversation.

It's a terrible idea. He knows what angels are like: cold, haughty, self-righteous. Inclined to smite first and ask questions never. For a demon to approach an angel voluntarily is all but suicidal. He shouldn't even be thinking about it.

Except.

He doesn't want to go back Downstairs, not just yet. The Garden has been, well, _wonderful_ , really. He's never seen anything quite like it. His memories of Heaven are fading, but what he does still remember was beautiful, but sterile. Like a statue carved in crystal, it remained frozen, unchanging. A beacon of purity, awe-inspiring and pristine and _static._

But the Garden-- Eden is _alive_, every square inch of it a teeming microcosm of life overlapping and intertwined, a riot of colors and textures in constant flux, always moving, always _changing_. Bacteria and fungi, plants and animals interacting in never-ending hierarchies of complexity, layers as intricate as the delicate dances between the stars, all contained in one tiny corner of this one tiny world. It's _fascinating_ and he doesn't want to leave it just yet, even though his job here is, technically, done.

So here he is, coiled up on a corner of the wall, watching the angel with wary eyes.

Questions, that's what it always comes back to. The thing is. He's a little unnerved by the whole situation. _Get up there and make some trouble_ , they'd told him, and he had, but he hadn't thought it would be quite so _much_ trouble, not really. Truth be told, it almost seemed _too_ easy. Everything in the Garden was free game except for one tree? Fine, just nudge the humans to check it out. Just eat an apple, what's the harm? Just one bite, what's the worst that could happen? What's so bad about knowing the difference between Good and Evil anyway?

Quite a lot, apparently.

It all seems quite out of proportion, if you ask Crawly, which of course no one would. Questions like that were what had landed him (quite literally) here in the first place. But, well, if there was anything good about being a demon, it was that asking questions and causing trouble is basically his job now. Hell never has much interest in _answering, _but they didn't much care about the asking, so long as he more or less gets done what they wanted in the end.

It isn't like he could Fall twice, after all.

But his curiosity remains, like an itch in a spot he can't quite reach, and it makes him wonder: what does the Angel think about all of it? Is he also bothered by it, kicking the humans he'd been set to guard out into the wilderness? Crawly wants to _know_, wants to _talk_ about it, wants to _understand. _And stupid as it is to attempt conversation with an angel... it isn't like there's anyone else around to ask, is there? No one except Her, and She never gives a straight answer, if She bothers to answer at all.

The angel doesn't seem to have an obvious weapon, at least (although, didn't he have a sword, earlier? Crawly could have sworn he'd seen one) so if he does try to smite Crawly on sight, at least he might have a little time to dodge first. And if he does get smited (smitten?), well. He's due back in Hell anyway. What's a little discorporation to speed things along?

He slithers up to the angel from behind, though, just in case.

* * *

The angel is obviously startled by his appearance, but-- he doesn't attack. He engages in the conversation, even, for all that it clearly makes him uncomfortable. His replies aren't terribly interesting, murmuring things about_ best not to question, Ineffable Plan, blah blah blah. _The same boring old party line. But... he's not trying to fight Crawly, doesn't make any move to violence or even to chase him away. Doesn't even insult him. Doesn't call him _fiend, _or _devil,_ or _foul beast._

It's... intriguing. Not at all what he expected.

The angel almost seems as glad of someone to talk to as Crawly is. The longer they speak, the more obvious it becomes how _anxious_ he is, full of doubts but trying desperately to bury them. _Oh, I do hope I did the right thing. _Crawly's reassurance is more sarcastic than anything, but the angel seems to take it at face value and it clearly comforts him.

...how scared _is_ this angel, that he's so quick to accept even the appearance of kindness from a demon, of all beings?

Carefully, not wanting to remind the angel that they really should be fighting and not making conversation, Crawly asks after the sword. And everything changes.

“You _WHAT_?” he blurts. He can't have heard that right.

“I gave it _away!_” the angel wails, and launches into a litany of excuses and explanations that Crawly only half-hears.

The angel gave his weapon away. If he was here to guard the Garden, then that sword was his purpose. And he just... handed it over to the humans. Because they were alone, because they were afraid, because they had nothing else.It was a profound act of kindness Heaven never would have approved of. Heaven demands loyalty and obedience and delivers judgment. There's no room for kindness in that equation. But here this angel is, offering it freely anyway. Doing the _right thing_, even though he must know Heaven will punish him for it later.

Crawly is stunned.

This angel isn't like any he'd ever met, Before or After. Vaguely, he wonders how things might have gone if they'd met before now, in the Beginning... but no. That line of thought is altogether too dangerous, and Crawly does his best to push it aside.

There's a rumble overhead. Something wet hits his face, and Crawly flinches, shuffling away from it on instinct. His first panicked thought is _holy water_, and it hadn't burned, but maybe there just hadn't been enough of it, maybe it was sent to drive him off, and he really should get out of here--

And a shadow falls over him, and he realizes the angel- _Aziraphale_\- has spread a wing over his head for shelter.

It is perhaps the single kindest gesture any being has ever done for him. The first comfort he's been offered since he Fell.  
  
It makes something spark inside him, a nervous fluttering he only half-remembers, and Crawly thinks- _oh, no_.

It feels like hope, or maybe even-- _no_. He pushes that thought aside too. Some ideas are too impossible to entertain, even for him.

  
He tries to squash it down, that fluttering lightness, tries to smother it before the spark can fan into anything bigger. _You're a demon_, he reminds himself, fiercely. _There's no hope for you. Demons don't get--_ whatever this was. Whatever this _could_ be. Companionship. Camaraderie. It's not for him.

It doesn't matter, anyway. He'll probably never see this angel again. Best not to get too invested.

Still... the world isn't all _that_ big, yet. If he gets sent back to Earth on assignment again... if he just happened to run into the angel... would it be so terrible if he said hello? Just to see what happened?

He _knew _this was a terrible idea.

* * *

The next time they meet, Crowley is disappointed.

It's been a long time, even for immortals, and the memory of their conversation in Eden has been nagging at him all this time, the hope burning under his scales, itching even more fiercely than curiosity. He's thought about that day too many times, turning it over and over in his head, wondering what it will be like if they meet again. What will the angel _say_? Will he even remember Crawly? Was that conversation as important to the angel as it was to him?

It couldn't have been. The angel is part of the Host. One With All Creation, never alone, etc. He can have companionship (_friendship) _whenever he wants, probably.

There's no reason for the angel to think of him. He tries to remember that. But that little spark of _something_, that shock of surprised delight, is so tantalizing, and he can't help yearning to feel it again.

Instead he finds the spark of hope flickering, threatening to go out.

Aziraphale still doesn't fight him, doesn't chase him off, but if he has doubts about the cruelty he's here to witness, he's much less willing to voice them. Crowley already knows what's going to happen here, of course; there aren't _that _many humans in the area, and Noah's family have made no secret of their divine mission, despite the scorn of their neighbors. But he lets Aziraphale explain it anyway, wants to hear the angel justify it, if he can.

And he does. Aziraphale's clearly miserable, especially when Crowley brings up the children, but he won't defy the will of Heaven, not this time. There will be no miraculous kindnesses on Aziraphale's part today, no matter how in need of help these humans are.

_Children,_ Crowley thinks, horrified. _Really?_ Maybe the adults deserved to be punished, they'd chosen to indulge in all the temptations he'd offered (and plenty they'd made up themselves), but _kids_ ? They couldn't choose anything at all. They hadn't done _anything_ to deserve _ this_.

What was it about the Almighty that led her to inflict such harsh punishments, no matter the scale of the crime? One town, one country failed Her, so She wiped out _everyone _ in the region? How was that justice? The humans might demand an eye for an eye, a hand for a theft, but they didn't condemn a criminal's entire family for _his _crime.

And of course, the whole time She claimed she was doing it for their own good. Because She _loved_ them. That was Ineffability for you, he thinks, bitterly. Nevermind what awful things were happening now, it was sure to all work out in the end.

Sometimes he was glad he'd Fallen, if this was Heaven's idea of Justice. At least Hell didn't lie about their reasons for hurting you.

He slinks away not long after, following the escaped unicorn off to a secluded glade. As he sits next to it, stroking its mane, he wonders idly if the whole encounter at Eden had been a fluke after all. Maybe Aziraphale wasn't as haughty as the rest of them, and maybe he was less inclined to violence, but he's still of Heaven, still willing to overlook terrible things for the sake of the Great Plan, still unwilling to _really_ question. Maybe Crowley read too much into their first encounter. Maybe he really _is_ alone.

* * *

His curiosity, of course, won't let him leave it there. Like a scab that you can't resist picking at, when he sees the angel again at Golgotha, he can't help but approach him.

His hopes have dampened, after the last time, but they're still there, still whispering little lies to him: _Why not? What's the harm?_ _Perhaps this time will be different_. He's thought it over, and it seems to him that witnessing the Flood might have been a punishment; repaying the angel's kindness at Eden by forcing him to watch as the humans he helped suffered.

Still, he can't resist showing his teeth, just a little, sidling up next to the angel and asking 'Here to smirk?' with a sneer on his lips. If the angel is so kind, let him show it again. Let him prove he's different from the others.

He doesn't.

This is no looming disaster, the shadow of a storm lingering on the horizon, this is happening here, _now_, and still, Aziraphale dodges and evades, refusing to face the matter directly. _I'm not consulted on policy decisions, Crowley._

(He accepts Crowley's new name, though. _That's something_, that treacherous hope whispers to him. _That's more than the other demons do._)

He does his best to push the thought aside and focus on the nightmare happening in front of them.

This time the misery is much more personal and immediate; blood flowing bright down the man's limbs, his cries slicing through the dry desert air. Crowley winces. Even by Heaven's standards, this seems particularly cruel. Drowning was a quick death, at least compared to this-- a slow, gradual suffocation over hours or days, the weight of the body slowly crushing itself.

\--was there _nothing_ and no one She wouldn't sacrifice for her great and terrible Plan?

Aziraphale is distressed, that much is clear. It's not as if he's _enjoying_ this gaudy display of pain and suffering, but that doesn't stop it from happening, does it? What's the good in _disapproving_ of something if you do nothing to prevent it? Just so many empty words. Heaven's specialty.

Inaction in the face of injustice was an action, too. He'd thought the angel understood this. He'd thought Aziraphale was _different_.

Where is the angel who gave away his flaming sword to a pair of helpless humans? The one who _did the right thing_, and nevermind the orders he'd been given? Where's the being who treated him like an equal, and showed unthinking kindness to his mortal enemy? Is this really the same angel that ignited his curiosity and that stubborn flicker of hope, the one he hasn't been able to stop thinking about?

Crowley eventually slips away from Aziraphale's side, disappearing into the dust, disgusted. Eden must have been a fluke-- or perhaps Aziraphale _had_ been kind, once, but Heaven had realized its mistake and smothered that impulse. Turned him into just another good little soldier, following orders. Whatever happened to the angel, Crowley's not going to waste his time chasing after him further.

It's a big world, and getting bigger all the time. The humans are so clever, always coming up with new things and new ideas. Surely he can find someone-- some _thing_\-- else worth his attention.

* * *

Crowley doesn't even realize the angel is in town until he hears the voice calling his name.

He should probably be more worried about that, he realizes distantly. He's not drunk, not yet, but he's well on his way, and he's let himself get distracted by wallowing. Letting his guard down like that is sloppy, dangerous-- he's not worried about any of the humans bothering him, but letting an angel sneak up on him that way-- well. If it had been anyone besides Aziraphale, he could have easily ended up smited.

But it _is_ Aziraphale. And even without the memory of that long-ago kindness, even despite the bitter aftertaste of their last two meetings, Crowley can't really bring himself to be _afraid_ of this angel.

Still, he keeps his responses curt, almost blunt. The sound of Aziraphale's voice has that flicker of hope inside him flaring up again, and he ruthlessly ignores it. He's learned his lesson by now. He's not going to give into that again. Better just to forget about it until it fades away.

He's sure it will eventually.

So Crowley doesn't engage. Holds himself back, and doesn't ask questions. Doesn't pursue the conversation. Until--

“Let me tempt you to-- oh. No, that's your job, isn't it?”

And there it is again- that shock of surprised delight that sparked his stupid hopes in the first place. Was that- did he _really_\- did the angel just make a _joke_?

All Crowley's frustration and disappointment from the past decades seem to vanish in an instant. Aziraphale's not addressing him as an angel to a demon, speaking down to him from some lofty moral perch. He's not here acting as Heaven's representative, excusing their atrocities with words that aren't his own. He's simply-- addressing an equal. Inviting him to a bit of entertainment. The way you would a _friend_.

It's like the bit with the rain all over again. Crowley doesn't have it in him to reject such kindness, not so freely offered.

Besides, Polonius' oysters _are_ famous. What's curiosity good for if not trying new things?

So they eat, and talk, and drink the evening away. There's something in Aziraphale's manner that's very different from their last two meetings. He speaks of the food, the people, and he all but lights up, _joyful_ in a way he hasn't been before-- or hasn't let himself show.

He's _invested_, really and truly delighted by these humans and their endless inventions. The way they've taken something as simple as food- gathering sustenance to fuel their mortal bodies- and made it into _art_, an infinite variety of flavors and textures, disparate substances brought together to make something _new_, and bringing people together along with it.

His joy is infectious, and Crowley finds himself smiling. That warm feeling in his belly flares up again. He's never going to be rid of it, he realizes that now. Is it hope? Curiosity? Or something even more dangerous? He can't be sure.

What he does know is that Aziraphale keeps surprising him, and it draws Crowley in like a lure. The angel is far too interesting to ignore. Whatever this is, he's in it for the long haul. It would probably burn him in the end-- hope tended to do that-- but he'll chase it anyway. It's in his nature-- better to get an answer, even a painful one, then be left wondering forever, the question unasked.

**Author's Note:**

> Title + lyrics from "Stray Italian Greyhound" by Vienna Teng
> 
> Based on [this tumblr post](https://trellanyx.tumblr.com/post/186663522711/we-all-agree-that-crowley-hardened-pretty-quickly)


End file.
